Nice Long Collision
by Kuro49
Summary: Herc/Chuck. Herc asks so Chuck doesn't have to. Herc asks because he knows inevitability in a way Chuck is only learning now.


Written for the kinkmeme prompt: _In most prompts Herc is the one who's reluctant to sleep with Chuck. But what if Herc, who knows from experience that drifting often leads to sexual attraction, almost expects something to happen between them at some point, and Chuck is the one who completely freaks out and tries to deny that there is any sexual tension between them? Who tries to fight it for a long time before he gives in, who is ashamed and thinks that he must be a sick fuck for wanting to sleep with his father. And Herc has to comfort and reassure him after they sleep with each other._

This prompt is so gorgeous and totally adorable, and I cannot do it justice because the potential amount of angst that I could have put Chuck in was just too much for my soul. And no actual porn... so, well.

XXX

**Nice Long Collision**

XXX

It always starts with the simplest things.

And it would be sad too if it isn't the only way they know how when his fist stops millimetres from his face. Chuck is shaking, Herc doesn't need to glance at the fist directed at his head to see, he can feel the bone-wracking tremor going through his son like it's his own.

The kid takes a step back when a breathless stutter catches all wrong in his throat, Herc lets him, if only because he can't imagine what Chuck is only beginning to understand now. But he asks him the same question he asks after every kill, without fail.

This marking their fifth.

"What do you need, Chuck?"

Chuck reels back with a pained expression.

"I don't need anything from you." He bites out with nothing but disdain before taking off down the hall, still in his drive suit, helmet tucked beneath one arm.

Of course, Herc notices how his son can't look him in the eye. Even when the kid is trying his hardest to fight against that pull, Herc also knows that Chuck can recognize the way their bodies gravitate towards each other. It is the drift, it is a part of being a pilot. But they never teach you this in the Jaeger Program.

Because how do you tell a boy that he will grow up wanting to kiss his father on the lips.

(You don't.)

Chuck learns this on his own.

000

Even before they drift for the very first time, Herc can see this coming from miles away. No one pilots every generation of the Marks and comes out learning nothing. That same moment, however, Chuck's head just _hurts_ from the sudden onslaught of the neural load. There is no warning, and even hours and hours logged into the simulators don't prepare you for the real thing.

Every Jaeger pilot learns this the hard way.

And this is no exception when his mind meets his in a sharp collision—

_The tides are coming in, and he is being pulled beneath the waves. There is sand between his toes as the ocean breeze hits, salt on his skin, and a slow seep into his bones. He wakes up gasping, blood in his throat. I think—There is the sound of the ocean. And he can't get away._

—He is his father and his father's son. (He is himself, but not entirely so.)

LOCCENT interrupts with something like bravado coming through the comm.

"Neural handshake holding strong. Good job, Hansens."

Chuck knows hesitation, only because he isn't quite ready to give in. Not yet, not while he can still fight it. This is no battle, but if it is, it is a losing one at any rate.

000

Their fifth drift marks their first kill.

He is sixteen years too young for this but there is adrenaline and a sheer disbelief when he stumbles out of the Conn-Pod. He feels like there should be something in place of the empty spaces of his head. Except he is grasping at straws, having nothing in his reach as his mind aches for another.

The helmet slips out of his grasp and his dad catches it before it can fall to the ground.

"You okay, kid?" Herc asks, putting it down. There is a scowl on his face when he brushes his old man's slight concern off but there is also a throbbing in the back of his head that takes all his concentration to snuff out. Chuck nods, insisting as his eyes fall close for just another second longer. "...Yeah, I'm fine."

"Hey, look at me."

Herc hesitates when he reaches out, but there isn't a day that Chuck won't complain about being called a kid, so he grips his chin to tilt his head back so he can look at him beneath the florescent lights. Chuck reluctantly blinks open his eyes, scowl deepening at how close they are. But he doesn't say anything, just waits until Herc seems content with what he sees.

Letting go, there is something looking like a grim smile over his lips when he asks, for the first but not the last time. "Do you need anything, Chuck?"

"...What? No, why would I need anything?" Chuck asks, wary, and just a little confused as he pulls away gingerly.

There is a pause before Herc finally nods. "Alright then."

Hercules Hansen begins to strip out of his drive suit, along with the circuitry suit underneath. The motion is practiced, a habitual course of action that is almost second natured to the old soldier.

Chuck's heart pangs at the sight and he doesn't know why. Turning away, he blames it to the drift-induced headache even if he feels as thought he has just been looking at something he shouldn't be.

000

Herc knows inevitability.

Because he has been here from the start. He has seen the falls, the fallen, and it is easy. Anyone can fall. It is picking up the pieces afterwards, when your head is clear of your co-pilot's mind. It is then that you know whether you can go through another drift, go another round with those bastards from the rift with a metal fist that comes as an extension of you, your co-pilot and that headspace that makes them you and then vice versa.

These aren't dreams.

Neither is this a war or a battle of something greater than themselves. This is a slow sweet surrender. And it is going to happen one of these days, _that_ Herc knows with conviction.

000

They have just bagged their third kill, and they are standing outside in the hall where their rooms are situated in opposition, almost like a mirror to how they have always been. Herc turns to Chuck and asks the same damn question like he always does.

"What do you need, Chuck?"

"I don't need a damn thing, old man."

His hand clenches around Max's leash, the dog barks once. His son doesn't look him in the eyes. Herc nods in understanding, turns around and heads for his room. It unravels, slow, and sure. Because it is always the simplest things.

Herc doesn't lock the door to his room.

000

The next time, Chuck simply walks away, like he knows exactly what is coming. Herc doesn't ask, only because he knows he doesn't need to. This time around.

000

Chuck doesn't do compatibility well, so Herc becomes his co-pilot.

There is never any doubt just as Herc asks so Chuck doesn't have to.

000

Chuck knows this routine, he knows it well.

Like he knows that simulator scores doesn't add up to actual kills. Like he knows what the Program teaches you is only about a fraction of the truth. But then again, no one wants to be the one to tell a fifteen years old boy that he will want to sleep with his own father in another year or so. He rubs a hand down his face before handing off his helmet to one of Striker's crew, shedding his drive suit as he goes.

Chuck can still feel the phantom burn of kaiju blue splattering across Striker's chest when Herc catches him around his wrist. (It is a simple touch, but aren't they all, the ones to start it all.)

"What—"

"You don't understand, _dad_." Chuck snaps, biting out, venom in every word. Chuck looks straight at him, breath heaving in his chest, and it is only then that Herc understands. "I don't want anything from you! I don't need anything _from _you!"

That disdain has never been for him, has never been for a father who was never around when he needed him. That disdain is reserved for Chuck himself. Herc doesn't know how he hasn't figured this out earlier. Because he should have. Chuck is smart, and he learns too fast. And this, it is one of those things he has learned for himself.

"You don't understand, I want you." Chuck says, and it is not a whisper. He has been raised as a soldier, it is in his bones when he stands a little straighter with his admission, back a taut strung bow in the face of imminent doom, like this is a mission he isn't coming back from. "I need you, dad, I need you like this."

He takes a hold of his father's circuitry suit, clenching the material in his fist as he surges forward. And there is a moment of hesitation when they are a breath apart that tells Herc everything he needs to know. (He admits that he has never been a good father, but he tries, and he is trying again.)

Herc reaches for the fist in his suit and gently tugs Chuck's fingers free. Calms the wild fire burning away in those blues. They aren't apologetic, and they aren't one for the blame. It isn't easy, like these things never are, even when the drift has taken all that, and made it okay.

So it's simple when Herc admits, smile faint when he draws his son close.

"I know, Chuck. I've always known."

000

He kisses him.

And it's like they are drifting again.

000

The bed is too small but they manage, and it keeps them close enough to pretend that their minds aren't mirror images of a gaping minefield.

"Hey old man," he starts, and it isn't entirely fear but it isn't entirely not either when he whispers, "are we going to be okay after this?"

Herc looks pained for a second, like he is caught by the vulnerability. He has seen his son take down six different Kaiju on three different coast lines and defended more miracle miles than he can count on one hand, coming back stronger every time. This isn't that. This is his kid hurting, thinking, for so long, that there is something so fundamentally wrong with himself for wanting his own dad in ways he shouldn't.

Herc tugs Chuck into his arms, lets the kid press himself even closer, and tells him with the same kind of conviction. "Yeah, we're okay."

Because this, this too is inevitable.

XXX Kuro


End file.
